Emboldened, Whitticombe gestured at Minnie. "And just think of the sore distress you and your brother have so heedlessly caused our dear hostess."
Color high, Minnie thumped her cane. "I'll thank you not to get your causes muddled. I'm certainly distressed, but my distress, as far as I can see, has been occasioned by whoever called the Runners down on our heads." She glared at Whitticombe, then at the General.
Whitticombe sighed. "My dear cousin, you really must see the light."
"Actually." Vane's drawl, laced with an undercurrent of sharpened steel, sliced through Whitticombe's sugary tones. "Minnie needs do nothing. A charge is not a conviction-indeed, a charge has yet to be made." Vane held Whitticombe's gaze. "I rather think that, in this case, time will reveal who is at fault, and who needs adjust their thinking. It seems somewhat premature to make sweeping conclusions just yet."
Whitticombe tried to look down his nose contemptuously; as Vane was a half head taller, he didn't succeed.
Which irritated him even more. Face setting, he eyed Vane, then, deliberately, let his gaze slide to Patience. "I rather think you're in no position to act as defender of the righteous, Cynster."
Vane tensed; Patience locked her hand about his.
"Oh?"
At Vane's quiet prompt, Whitticombe's lips curled. Patience inwardly groaned and shifted her hold to Vane's arm. Everyone else in the room stilled, holding then' collective breaths.
"Indeed," Whitticombe smiled spitefully. "My sister had some very interesting-quite riveting-insights to offer this morning. On you and Miss Debbington."
"Is that so?"
Deaf to anything but his own voice, Whitticombe failed to hear the warning in Vane's lethally flat tone. "Bad blood," he pronounced. "Must run in the family. One a bald-faced thief, the other-"
Belatedly, Whitticombe focused on Vane's face-and froze.
r /> Patience felt the aggression lance through Vane; under her hands, the muscles of his arm locked, rock-hard. She clung, literally, and hissed a furious, "No!"
For one instant, she thought he might shake free and then Whitticome might just be dead. But she'd set her sights on living in Kent, not in exile on the Continent.
"Colby, I suggest you retire-now." Vane's tone promised instant retribution should he decline.
Stiffly, not daring to take his gaze from Vane's face, Whitticombe nodded to Minnie. "I'll be in the library." He backed to the door, then paused. "The righteous will be rewarded."
"Indeed," Vane replied. "I'm counting on it."
With a contemptuous glance, Whitticombe left. The tension gripping the room drained. Edmond slumped into a chair. "Gad, if I could only capture that on stage."
The comment sent a ripple of uneasy laughter through the others. Timms waved to Patience. "After that excitement, Minnie should rest."
"Indeed." Patience helped Timms gather Minnie's myriad shawls.
"Shall I carry you?" Vane asked.
"No!" Minnie waved him away. "You've other things on your plate just now-more urgent things. Why are you still here?"
"There's time."
Despite Minnie's shooing, Vane insisted on helping her up the stairs and seeing her installed in her room. Only then did he consent to leave. Patience followed him into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her.
Vane pulled her to him and kissed her-hard and quick.
"Don't worry," he said the instant he raised his head. "We had a plan in case something like this happened. I'll go and make sure all's fallen into place."
"Do." Patience met his eyes, searched them briefly, then nodded and stepped back. "We'll hold the line here."
Swiftly, Vane raised her hands and kissed them, then stepped back. "I'll keep Gerrard safe."
"I know." Patience clutched his hand. "Come to me later."